


places to go

by pasdela



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Iwai is there for two seconds and so are Takemi and Sojiro, Unreliable Narrator, basically Ren takes a walk and his thoughts come with him, mentions of other characters and happenings, references to events up to October, some thoughts involve Akechi Goro because October is a Fun Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21556810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasdela/pseuds/pasdela
Summary: Alone, Ren heads out to Central Street.Making the jump is a decision on its own, but so is figuring out where to land.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	places to go

**Author's Note:**

> So I was sad and kept thinking about everything Ren goes through in-game and—well, here it is.  
> (Alternate title : you can take the boy out of the metaverse but you cannot take the overwhelming stress of being PT leader out of the boy)

Ren takes one step forward, two steps back. 

He counts to ten.

Does it again backwards.

Okay. Medicine. He’ll go to Takemi’s first—

The roar of the train gives him pause. The overhead voice makes a strong case. It reminds Ren of where he is, and where he is going. Which isn’t Yongen-Jaya. 

Ren hears the voice, with its careful cadence and calculated tone, devolve into meaningless noise. It feels like static, and reminds him of little dogs that chase butterflies.

The loot from their last visit weighs down his bag. It’s not a big load. Nothing heavier than he can handle, at least. But it is heavier than usual. If Ren held it off for any longer, he’d be accused of slacking off, and he doesn’t know what to say to that—doesn’t want to _lie._

Ren is tired of lying.

(Though he’s not the only perpetrator.)

Ren takes one step forward, two steps back.

He gives up on navigating the maze of his mind, walks through Shibuya instead. Despite the memories of walking ATMs and skeezy men, Ren’s found that it’s a lot safer there. 

It’s not so packed on the train around this time of day. Ren sways in the center without a handhold, trying to get lost in plans, trying to forget the ones that fell through. 

Today will be different. He’ll go straight to Iwai’s, then to the convenience store. Maybe grab a value pack at Big Ba—

Restart. 

Ren needs to return a few DVDs first. The rental place is right by the entrance, which is somehow not enough to stop him from walking _right past it_ every time. After his third offense, it’s a wonder that he’s still allowed to set foot anywhere near it. 

Someone shoves past him. The point of something that’s sharp and decidedly _not_ the corner of a DVD case stabs into his side. 

Oh. Right.

Ren scraps the plan and wanders through the waiting doors of the train. He’s already up the stairs by the time his autopilot kicks in, thirty seconds too late and wholly unnecessary, bringing Ren towards the sweet smell that wafts in from his left. Ren knows it’s just bread. In spite of that, the promise (threat) of something more enters his head. 

He knows what it is, doesn’t want to admit that it starts with the letter ‘H’. The blacks and whites of a crossword flash by.

4 letters across. _Expectation and desire._

Ren isn’t sure if that particular desire is worth being fulfilled. Expectation wells up in his heart, creeping up to mess with his brain. 

And what if Ren turns around? What if Ren sees him standing there? What would he even say? Ren’s been off book for months. He isn’t sure where his lines end and the mock attempts at improv begin.

Ren goes for a manual override. He makes a sharp right and heads out to the Station Square. On Central Street, he doesn’t have to know what to say. And if he does, it’s nothing serious. The vending machines don’t hang onto his every word. The drinks inside don’t live _—or die,_ his brain supplies helpfully—by his command.

He taps out the combination for an Arginade and watches it move to the tune of hidden limbs. The can is forced out of hiding. It makes a harsh noise when it reaches its destination; a loud _thud_ that feels too familiar to be pleasant. _(Ren is alone and he needs medicine.)_ He wants to leave. 

Ren takes one step forward, two steps back.

The rest of the cans rattle around in his bag with the loot. Morgana is gone. 

That sounds a bit morbid. Morgana isn’t dead; though Ren does take a second to imagine a ghostly version of Morgana jumping out of his bag and taking off down the street. He suppresses a shudder. It’s a bit ridiculous, really, since it isn’t real and Morgana is _fine._ The can in Ren’s hand is real. 

And then it’s not.

The Arginade hits the street with a clang and lives out his ghost cat fantasies. Ren lets it. He watches it go down, down, down ...

At any rate, Morgana isn’t here. Morgana is with Haru. (Or Futaba or Ann, or anyone else but Ren.) He understands. Haru needs Morgana more. She had needed _Ren_ before. 

Look how that worked out. 

Ren pushes another button. Nothing comes out. He tries again. And again and again and again—until it registers that his bag is full and the machine is empty and he has only crossed two things off of his growing to-do list. 

Ren misses his cat. Among other things. 

That shouldn’t be his most pressing concern. 

(He spends a few minutes wishing it was.)

He heads into the alley that holds Iwai’s shop. On the way there, Ren ignores the bright neon lights and glowing blue doors. They only serve to remind him of places he can no longer reach and places he no longer wants to go. 

If he keeps his gaze high, he won’t see the white hair of a little girl standing guard. If he keeps his thoughts loud, he won’t hear the indignant cry of a warning he’s already taken to heart. 

Ren does both and ends up somewhere a little in between. Iwai doesn’t spare him a glance, but he does acknowledge Ren’s presence in the room. He’s convinced that Iwai has the sound of his footsteps memorized. 

Ren isn’t much up for conversation today. He isn’t usually very talkative anyway. Better days see him with ears that are far more active than his tongue. This shouldn’t be a problem.

(Ren hopes Iwai doesn’t notice.)

Iwai does. He tries not to show it, but Ren knows. He inspects the pieces with a new sort of interest and offers more money than even Ren suspects they’re worth. He looks down at his hands and finds flashing lights in their place. Ren hands each piece over, settling for the first price laid on the table. Too slow, and he’ll see metal walls reflected in them. Money is the last thing he wants to need. 

Ren knows what he needs.

And he’ll keep that secret far away, where the weight of broken deals is heavier than gravity will ever be.

For now, though, he’s here. With money he won’t own for much longer, and deals he can finally honor.

His bag is light for all of two seconds before it’s filled with the new armor. Seven pieces. For a second, Ren is glad Morgana isn’t here. The second passes.

Alone, Ren heads back out to Central Street. His job isn’t done. Ren isn’t sure it’ll ever be, isn’t sure what his job really _is_ , and above all isn’t sure if he should have it in the first place. It’s a messy train of thought. One that Ren is all too eager to jump off of before it picks up speed and he lands on the jagged edges of indecision. 

Making the jump is a decision on its own, but so is figuring out where to land.

Ren can’t go to the convenience store. That’s just how it is. If he steps inside—if he sees his coworker’s easy smile, the burden not resting atop her shoulders, but offered to him in the palms of her hands—Ren knows it won’t be a quick stop.

Work is easy to get lost in. Flowers, beef, instant ramen, drinks … In the end, they’re all the same. A false sense of security. Ren’s own way to make-pretend productivity. As if money meant he could save his friends. 

So Ren can’t go to the convenience store. 

Instead, he spends the next twenty minutes in a drug store, dipping outside of his budget to convert the paper in his hands into something his friends can actually _use._ Which, in this case meant enough adhesive bandages to earn Ren looks from the lady behind him in line. 

(And then some more from the cashier when he attempts to shove them into his bag immediately after the purchase.

Ren tries again outside. The bandages go in. At least, they do for a good second or so. A vest springs out with them for good measure and Ren has to drop down to deal with it all. He looks up and makes direct eye contact with some kid.)

One step forward, two steps back.

He’s on a train again, out of breath from barely making it through the doors. Ren was—he doesn’t know what he was looking for. _(Stop lying—)_ Or rather, Ren doesn’t know why he spent so much time looking. He doesn’t want to know. Ren closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to _see_. Ren leans back against a pole and tries not to think.

It works about as well as he thought it would.

Ren stands in front of Takemi. He towers over her chair, yet shrinks under her gaze. He doesn’t sense an argument, but he’s prepared for one. In the few words that they exchange during his time at the clinic, Ren is surprised a diagnosis isn’t one of them. 

Ren knows what he must look like—knows what _this_ must look like: a boy’s desperation in her hands, bundled in stacks of thin paper. 

Her prices haven’t changed. They’ve gone down as much as Ren could manage. He knows this. It’s why he’s been working so much.

(Another lie.)

Ren leaves having spent more than his budget. He knows it’s not enough. Ren could empty his wallet and still end up alone. That particular truth stops him in his tracks. 

Futaba isn’t here.

He’s home, finally. Except it doesn’t feel like he is. Because Futaba isn’t here, and neither is— 

Ren is fine.

The door shuts and the little bell chimes someplace far away. Sojiro is here. There’s only one other person in the room. Futaba is usually at home anyway, so it’s. Fine. Everything is fine. Ren isn’t okay, but in a few seconds he better be able to pass off as “getting there.”

Sojiro’s greeting is the same: a noncommittal nod, a vague concern disguised as a warning. Ren wishes he could melt in the sound, in the smell that fills the air around him. Maybe _then_ he’d be able to understand.

(Maybe then he’d be able to run away.)

Ren catches brown hair in his peripheral vision, but it’s dark and in an entirely wrong shade. The bell chimes again. He’s been here for what must be seconds but feels like hours.

Two steps forward—

Ren takes a seat at the bar and wonders why he wasn’t enough.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, please know that I appreciate you <3  
> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/abtdela) if you'd like a friend :))


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